


for if love was the answer i was damned from the start

by whittler_of_words



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aromanticism, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other, Queerplatonic Relationships, Selectively Mute Frisk, Self-Harm, Sharing a Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:19:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6612133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittler_of_words/pseuds/whittler_of_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re lying on the floor of your room, feet kicking in the air as you color in a paper sky with broad strokes, when Chara asks, “What are we?"</p><p>You give your other hand a reassuring pat. “We’re us.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	for if love was the answer i was damned from the start

**Author's Note:**

> some things to note before reading: 1) there will be **no smut** in this fic, sns, 2) this is my personal take on a ship that is very near &dear to my heart, and 3) there's a bit wrt self harm at the end that, although doesn't describe anything explicit, does focus p hard on the emotion of it, so tread safely if that'll bug you. hope u enjoy!

You’re lying on the floor of your room, feet kicking in the air as you color in a paper sky with broad strokes, when Chara asks, “What are we?”

Your crayon pauses over the page. You’re not sure how to color in the clouds. Chara said to use gray, but you thought they’d look kind of sad like that so you were just going to outline them in blue and leave them blank, but now you’re starting to think they look a little empty and shapeless without the color there. “Hm?”

“What are we?” they repeat. Their insistence draws you out from your haze of concentration, and you notice the way their nervousness has your fingernails digging into the blue wax. 

“Um,” is all you say, because you’re not entirely sure what they mean, and you don’t want to give them the wrong answer and make them upset on accident. 

“I know we’re friends,” they say, not even addressing your hesitation. “But we’re not. It’s more than that. I don’t know how to explain it, and I don’t know what we’re supposed to be if we’re not friends.” They pause, chewing their lip. “I know you feel it too. You can’t tell me you don’t.”

Your first thought is to tell them that’s silly. Of course you’re friends. You don’t, though, thinking it over. You have a lot of friends now; Alphys, Papyrus, Sans, Mettaton, Monster Kid, and Undyne too, even though she’s more like a sister now. It’s always fun to hang out with them. Talking, watching movies, having sleepovers- in the end, all of them mean just as much to you, in little different ways. But it’s then that you run across a snag.

You love your friends to death and back, but... there’s some things you just can’t do with them. There are some things you just can’t talk to them about. And, in the times when you need comfort none of them can offer, Chara is there to distract you. And in return, when Chara is having a bad day and being around other people makes their skin crawl, you’re there to support them. Dozens of little ways you keep each other together that wouldn’t work if it came from anyone else. And okay, that might have to do with you two being literally inseparable, but... Chara is right. If friendship is one thing, and what you and Chara are to each other goes even farther, what could be higher than that...?

You wonder, idly, if someone else can be your save point.

You give your other hand a reassuring pat. “We’re us.”

“...Us,” Chara echoes. Their smile spreads across your face. You pick up the gray crayon.

///

“I heard from Ruben who heard from Chilly that ‘Liza has a crush on me,” the girl across from you whispers giddily, and you almost drop your milk your attention zeros in so fast. Chara’s exasperation nearly has your own eyes rolling, but they can deal with it. Besides, you can tell they’re at least as curious as you are. You don’t even have to ask her to explain; MK leans over the lunch table, eyes wide.

“Yo, for real? Do you...y’know...” They glance around the cafeteria, lowering their voice. “ _Like_ her back?”

She doesn’t say anything, but she nods vigorously, and you can’t help but flap your hands a little in excitement. It’s so _cute._ You don’t know about anyone else, but you’ve noticed them sneaking notes into each other’s backpacks for weeks now, and, honestly? _About time._

(Chara does manage to roll your eyes at that, but nobody notices, so it’s fine.)

“That’s so sweet...” The little slime monster sitting next to you sighs warmly. “I wish somebody would have a crush on _me_.”

 _‘What about you?’_ you ask them. _‘Do you have one?_ ’

“Oh, me?” They blush, somehow, shifting in their seat shyly in the way only a slime monster can. “Well...Maybe a little one... It’s nothing special. I bet your guys’s are more interesting.”

“I have one,” Kid says, grinning, “but it’s so secret, like, I haven’t even told my _diary._ ” A small _oooh_ travels through your little group, and you carefully note these instances down. A _secret_ crush? That’s impressive. 

_This is stupid_ , Chara mutters.

 _Your face is stupid,_ you tell them fondly. 

“Yo, Frisk,” Kid says, interrupting your thoughts, “what about you?”

You furrow your brows at them. _‘What do you mean?’_

“C’mon man, don’t you remember? A crush!”

Oh. It’s your turn to shift in your seat this time. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you, waiting for your response, and in the end you just answer with a shrug. _‘I don’t know._ ’

“What!” MK says, sitting up straight. “But you, like, flirt with people all the time! More than all of us put together, I bet.”

The slime monster shifts closer to the table, dripping a little. You think some of them gets on your shoes. “Yeah... I thought for sure you’d have the most crushes than the rest of us...”

You know you flirt a lot; the tendency has gotten you in as many scrapes as it’s gotten you out of, but... It makes people happy, doesn’t it? You’ve seen the way one well-placed compliment can turn someone’s bad mood entirely on its head for the rest of the day- does enjoying putting a smile on someone’s face really have so much to do with crushes? Glancing around at everyone’s faces, seeing them all looking back expectantly, an odd feeling settles in your stomach. 

_‘...Yes,_ ’ you say eventually, and you have to flap your hands to get them to quiet down. _‘But you can’t tell anyone! I don’t want anyone else to know, got it?_ ’

“Sure thing,” MK says. The rest of the table echoes them. Soon enough, the topic moves on to something else. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

The rest of the day passes normally, and you’d almost forgotten about it when Chara says, _You were lying, weren’t you._

You keep your eyes on the ground in front of you as you walk, and your pulse quickens in your chest despite yourself. _Hm?_

_Don’t “hm” me,_ they scoff. _You were lying. You don’t have a crush._

 _I don’t want to talk about this,_ you say, because you don’t, even though you half expected them to bring it up in the first place. _I just wanna go home._

 _You’ll get there either way. Might as well have a-- how did Mettaton put it? Heart to heart?_ Their amusement ripples through your awareness, but it passes quickly, and they sober before you can say anything back. _Why’d you lie?_

 _I don’t know._ You scuff your shoes on the sidewalk. Reluctantly, you admit, _I think...maybe that’s the problem. “I don’t know”. I don’t_ think _I have a crush, but they seemed to know what they were talking about, and..._ You shrug. _It was just. Easier._

 _To go along with it?_ Chara prompts. You shrug again, and they snort inelegantly, making your nose burn. _Well, I don’t get any of that stuff either. I think it’s stupid. You should’ve just told them you don’t have a crush and let them flounder in confusion on their own._

 _They’re not the ones who are confused,_ you bite back, maybe a little more snappishly than you intended. Chara goes quiet. You walk in silence for several minutes, counting each step.

Chara makes a noise in the back of your head eventually, and you perk up. _If you’re really that beat up over it,_ they start, _you can always ask around, you know. I’m sure Mom would be happy to help._

_Wouldn’t that be a little awkward?_

_Would you rather ask Sans?_ they monotone, and you wince. Mom it is.

You decide to wait until after dinner. Except “after dinner” turns into “after the movie” into “after bathtime” and suddenly she’s tucking you into bed, and you barely have the presence of mind to enjoy her goodnight kiss on the forehead your nerves are so strung out. Chara’s the one who reaches out a hand to tug on her sleeve before she can turn away, and you’re equal parts both grateful and annoyed. 

You brush the feelings away quickly, though, because she turns back to you and says, “Did you need something else, dear?” 

“Um,” you start, wringing your hands, and then, ‘ _Can I ask you a question?’_

There’s no hesitation. “Of course.” She’s big enough that she might as well be sitting on a chair when she settles onto the floor next to your bed. “Is there something troubling you?”

You wave your head in as noncommittal a gesture as you can make it. You’ve had hours to rehearse what you want to say, so you don’t know why you’re so _nervous._ You can feel Chara edging into your fingers, though, a threat you know they’d be more than happy to follow through with, and you hastily sign the words before they can do it for you.

_‘What does it mean to love someone?’_

She blinks. You can tell you’ve taken her by surprise, because she doesn’t answer right away. After a few seconds, though, “A very good question. And, as it turns out, one that many people have to ask themselves every day.” You tilt your head to the side, and she smooths down the blanket over your legs. “There are countless types of love. Selfish love, selfless love, familial, platonic, romantic... Just to name a few, mind you. There are a few things that set them apart, yes. However.” She gives you a Look, a small smile quirking over her fangs. “If you look closely, you will find that they are not very different at all. So the real question, I believe, is not what it means to love someone... but what it means to _you._ ”

You nod, slowly. That wasn’t exactly the answer you were looking for, and you think she was being vague on purpose, but it’s enough to satisfy you. For now, at least. ‘ _Thank you,’_ you say, patting her hand. She smiles again.

“I am always here to answer any questions you may have, Frisk. Ah, if I may ask... What brought this on?”

 _‘Some friends were talking about crushes at school,’_ you say a little shyly, and she sighs knowingly.

“Oh, crushes. You all are getting to be around that age, are you not?” It’s her turn to pat your hand, but she takes it at the end, squeezing reassuringly. “You may be getting older, but. Please do not feel the need to burden yourself with things like crushes or romance quite yet. Or ever, if that’s what you want. You already have so much love inside you.”

You don’t know how she managed to say exactly what you needed to hear when you were so careful to not bring up your exact problem in the first place, but you probably shouldn’t be surprised. She’s your mom, after all. There’s zero chance of you complaining anyway, not when she’s looking at you like she understands every uncertain thought that’s ever crossed your mind, when her hands are warm and soft on callouses so worn in they still haven’t had the chance to soften yet, and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning in to hug her if you tried. She smells like most things good in the world, and you’re smiling when you lean back a few moments later.

 _‘Love you, Mom,’_ you tell her, and you trade knowing smiles before she nuzzles your cheek and stands again.

“I love you too, Frisk. Sleep well.”

 _...I told you so,_ Chara says once she’s left the room, and you pinch yourself under the covers.

///

You wake to the sound of your own labored breathing, sweat sticking your hair to your face. All you can hear is your blood roaring in your ears, too fast. You sit up quickly and reach under the bed, the motions so familiar you don’t falter even with how hard the hands are shaking, and you knit the next stitch. One. Two. Three. Four...

Chara comes back into the body slowly, their presence dragging at your fingers, and when you slip out of control they fill up the empty space you left. Their movements are jerky, mechanical, gripping onto the knitting needles so tightly their knuckles are white with the strain of it. Hesitantly, you reach out. Their presence is cold, distant; more like an empty space than the warm, languid company pressing against your awareness that you’ve grown used to. You draw back. 

They keep knitting. Ten. Eleven. Twelve...

Slowly (very slowly), their grip relaxes. Their shoulders slump, loosening from the rigid posture they’d been stuck in for who knows how long, and their fingers radiate aches from the stiffness. They don’t let go though. They keep knitting, focused on the growing fabric in their hands. They take a deep breath.

“It happened again,” they murmur. You send them a blip of acknowledgement, not sure what to say. Their eyes flick up to the clock on your desk before going back to their work. 3:29 am. “How long did it take?”

You give the best mental approximation of a shrug that you can. _A...while._

They pause. “Longer than last time.”

It’s not a question. You nod, though, and they laugh weakly, finally dropping the yarn in their lap to press their palms into their eyes. 

“It keeps getting worse,” they say. “It keeps happening and it keeps getting worse and there’s gonna be a night where I just-- don’t wake up all the way. Wouldn’t that be _great?_ ”

_That won’t--_

“Shut up, Frisk.”

 _...That won’t happen,_ you whisper, once a few minutes have passed and all you can hear is the quiet sound of their breathing. _Nightmares can’t last forever._

“But they can last long enough that they might as well be,” they counter, and then much more quietly, “...I would know.”

 _You’re not alone anymore,_ you remind them, as firmly as you can. _I’ll always be here to wake you up. I won’t let you fall asleep again like you did before I came here._

“You can’t stop the inevitable, you know,” they say, and the smile that quirks your lips is all you.

_They say the same thing about dying, but we’re still here, aren’t we?_

That surprises another laugh out of them, but it’s genuine this time; you can tell by the way their shoulders hike up just slightly, their ensuing smile running crooked instead of perfectly even and smooth. You like their laugh, and you make sure to tell them so.

They shift a little bit in their spot next to the bed. “Don’t make this weird.”

_How’s it weird? I’m just saying I like your laugh. It’s nice._

“You’re making this weird,” they say, but all their bite is soft at the edges. “Now I can never laugh again, lest Frisk decides to compliment me and make things more uncomfortable than they already are.”

_Jerk!_

“That’s me. Not feeling so benevolent now, are you?” they say. You’re both smiling, though, and they sigh a little, picking up the knitting needles once again. “Get some sleep, Frisk. I’m going to stay up for a while.”

 _Okay,_ you say, and you only hesitate for a second before: _Love you._

They pause, but only for a moment, and the smile doesn’t drop from their face, still genuine, still real. “Love you, too. Weirdo.”

The room is filled with the familiar sound of knitting needles clicking together, and you fall asleep within minutes.

 

 

“I have something for you,” Chara says, and your curiosity is piqued less because of their nervousness (when are they _not_ nervous?) and more because you have no idea what it is. Which is pretty unlikely, considering.

“What is it?”

“Hold on,” they say, and you watch as they walk over to the wardrobe. You nearly tell them there’s nothing in there except hung-up clothes, but there, tucked away in the back corner where you wouldn’t have bothered to look if Chara wasn’t kneeling down to reach for it, is a box.

“When did you do this?” you breathe, turning it over in your hands as they relinquish the controls. It’s wrapped neatly in the hideous halloween wrapping paper you like -- you recognize the pattern from the box of art supplies in the hallway where they must’ve gotten it from -- and taped to the top, in place of a bow, is a square of construction paper that has “To: Weirdo” markered on the front.

“You’ll know when you open it,” they say. You start unwrapping it, carefully picking apart the tape, and their impatience nearly makes you rip the paper. “Oh my god, just open the damn thing already.”

“But I don’t want to rip it!”

“There’s literally yards more where this came from,” they grumble, but they leave you alone after that, and after a few minutes you have all the paper off and placed gently to the side to un-wrinkle later. You rest your fingers over the top of the brown box.

“Is it spaghetti?” you ask.

“What? No.”

“Shoes?” “No.”

“A puppy?”

“ _Frisk,_ ” they groan, and you giggle, finally opening up the cardboard flaps to see--

Oh.

“Now you know,” they mumble, doing a really good impression of someone looking to the side and shuffling their feet for someone who doesn’t exist outside your head. “Anyway. There you go.”

You carefully lift the fabric from its box, holding it up as it unfolds into the sweater you knew it would be. It’s knitted in the rainbow yarn you and Chara picked out months ago; they liked the texture, and you liked the colors, and you glance over to the bed where you can still see a corner of Chara’s nights of work peeking out. “...While I was sleeping?”

“Yeah.” You can feel them watching, trying very hard to not be embarrassed as you run your fingers over fabric. “The squares I make when I’m... like _that_ are good and all, but it’s nice to have an actual project to work on, and...” They trail off, mumbling. “I wanted to thank you. For. Y’know. Stuff.”

You grin, clutching the sweater to your chest. “I love it,” you say, mouthing the words into the fabric, and then more decisively, “I’m gonna wear it.”

“What? Right now?” they say, obviously taken aback, and you grin wider.

“Right now!” You let go of the sweater just long enough to wriggle out of the one you’re already wearing, shrugging the new one on the second it’s off. You close your eyes as you rub a sleeve against your cheek. You’ll give Chara one thing: they have excellent taste in textures. “It’s perfect. I’m never gonna take it off.”

“That’s just ridiculous,” they say.

“Okay, maybe a little,” you admit. “But I do love it.” An idea blossoming in your mind, you get to your feet and bound towards the door. “I’m gonna show Mom!”

Chara stops your feet in your tracks,making you stumble, but you manage to prop a hand on the door to balance yourself. “Frisk, you _can’t._ ”

“Relax. I’m not gonna tell her you made it.” You pet the fabric, smiling to yourself. _I’ll just tell her a special friend gave it to me. That’s not a lie, right?_

Their blush makes heat rise in your cheeks, and you have to bite down on another giggle. “Fine,” they say, straightening up and dusting you off like they’re not the reason you almost fell in the first place. Or maybe that is why.

“Thank you, Chara,” you whisper, placing a hand over your chest, and they go still. “I really do love it. I mean it.”

You whisk out the door and run to the living room before they can respond, but their warmth rises in your chest the entire way.

///

Grocery lists are good and all, but when half of the things you need end up being crossed out by _someone_ in favor of “Chocolate chips” and “Chocolate cookies” and “At least three knives”, you find that just playing it by ear tends to end with a _lot_ less spilled ink.

“Uh oh, Spaghettios,” Chara mumbles as you pick up a can, and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from bursting into laughter in the middle of the aisle.

 _Someone’s sleepy,_ you tease. They grumble, a garbled murmur of unintelligible words pouring from your mouth that even you can’t parse.

 _It’s eearrly,_ they whine. Moving down towards the fresh produce, you have to fight to keep their indignant expression off your face.

 _It’s almost lunchtime,_ you point out, _and Mom needed me to pick up some stuff for dinner tonight anyway. It won’t take that long._

 _I’m dying!_ they groan, ignoring you completely. _In the end it’s not the humans or the bedazzled Roomba that will kill me, but getting up before noon on a Saturday to run errands. Leave me in the candy aisle to rot, it’ll be quicker._

 _No. Suffer with me,_ you tell them, and are rewarded with a string of curses colorful enough to make you taste soap.

Apparently too tired to bother you much further, they go quiet after that, leaving you to do your grocery shopping in relative silence. You’re on your way to the register when they finally speak up again, sounding marginally less miserable. _Aren’t you going to get something for yourself while you’re here? You have the money._

A hand immediately touches to the bulge in your jeans pocket where your phone is. _I don’t really want anything,_ you say, but Chara responds immediately, as if they knew that’s what you would say.

_Come on, there’s got to be something in this place that’s appealing to you. Just look around._

_No._ You shake your head, keeping your eyes on the tiled floor as you walk so you’re not tempted to look at all the things set up around you. _I should save up anyway. Just in case,_ you add quickly, interrupting whatever protest they had prepared.

 _Frisk,_ they start. Your grip on the basket handle tightens reflexively. _It’s okay to spend. Mom is giving you an allowance so you can get what you want when you see it._ Their tone is neutral but brisk, confident in the exact way you can never quite manage to emulate, but even still you feel the same old fears asserting themselves in your mind. What if you run out? What if an emergency happens and you need money you no longer have because you spent it all on something you don’t actually need? Even worse is the thought of Toriel being disappointed in you for spending money on something stupid when you could’ve gotten any other number of better, more important things, and just thinking about it is enough to leave a physical ache in your fingers. You can’t run out. You can’t.

For all you know you don’t have to think like that anymore, you’re not sure you know how to stop.

 _Just look around,_ Chara repeats, mercifully not commenting on the sudden churning in your gut. _If you don’t find anything then you can say you told me so._

 _...Fine,_ you say, more sullenly than you intended. You make a sudden heel turn, startling a shopper who was walking behind you, and you duck past them quickly, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. 

You walk through practically the entire store, glancing half-heartedly at the shelves. The aisles full of toys don’t interest you much. Chara perks up at some Transformers action figures, and you wonder if buying one for them would count enough to please them, but they reject the offer before you can even articulate it properly. _The entire point is for you to get something for yourself, not for someone else_ , they say. They nudge you along (albeit reluctantly). _Try again._

You’ve covered more than half of the store (that’s enough to count as a concerted effort, right?) when you finally go to tell Chara that there’s really nothing for you here after all. And then you see it.

 _No,_ Chara says, realizing what you’re staring at. Somehow, the dread in their voice is enough to wash away the last of your hesitation, and a smile spreads over your face. _Frisk. Don’t you dare._

Ten minutes later, you walk out of the store with a bag of groceries in hand and a brand new neon-green windbreaker swishing loudly as you swing your arms.

 _I regret things,_ Chara drones. _Some more than others._

The number on the receipt in your pocket makes you want to run right back into the store and return the jacket just thinking about it. It’s easy enough to recognize Chara’s hyperbolic complaints as the fumbling attempts at reassurance that they are, though, and it’s enough to keep you moving forward instead of back. 

_You suffer sooo much,_ you say. The windbreaker goes swishy-swish. _I’ll find a way to make it up to you._

 _You’d better,_ they agree. _Christ, put on some sunglasses before you look down at this thing, would you?_

///

You’re walking down to the kitchen when your feet stop of their own accord in the middle of the hall, and you waver with the unexpectedness of it, almost losing your balance.

_What is it?_

“I just want to see something,” Chara says, turning and walking a few steps back. To your surprise, they stop in front of the mirror, leaning in close and squinting at your shared reflection. You peer with them, wondering if you got something on your face that they noticed and you didn’t, and you’re not expecting it when Chara says, “I never get to just look at you.”

You’d blink if you could. Chara has firm control of the body though, and you watch as they bring a hand up. Their fingers walk gently over your cheeks, touching briefly on dark skin freckled with scars from years of picking at your face, tracing the shape of a nose too big to be pretty and too flat to be handsome, and for all that their roaming touches are brief and soft, their expression is decidedly neutral. It’s the weirdest mix of warm and clinical you’ve ever experienced.

“I never liked my eyes,” Chara says suddenly, shocking you out of your thoughts. “Red looks good on you.”

With a satisfied nod at the mirror, they lean back from the glass, and suddenly you’re back in the driver’s seat, eyes watering from not blinking for so long. You’re confused, mostly, and maybe a little embarrassed, but Toriel calls for you before you can think about it much further.

///

“Breathe,” Chara says, and you do, drawing in a deep breath that does nothing to change the way you feel too big for your skin, restless and itchy and, and-- too much. “You can’t,” they continue. “There’s nothing here.”

But there is. You can practically see it, in the front pocket of your backpack, sitting in your pencil case; all it’d take is one careful stomp of your boot and the plastic of the sharpener would fall apart, leaving nothing but the blade behind. It’d be so easy. You want it so bad. Your fingernails are too short to dig into your skin, but that doesn’t stop you from gripping onto your other arm as tightly as you can as you glance over to your backpack.

Chara stands abruptly, leaving you feeling disoriented. “We’re going for a walk.”

Part of you wants to tell them no. To kick and scream at them for trying to take this away from you, to fight them off long enough that you can grab the blade and dig it in extra deep just to spite them. It’s a really big part of you. 

Most of the fight leaves you as soon as Chara steps out the door. Not to say you feel better; there’s a simmering anger in your gut you’re too petty to push away. But Chara takes a deep breath of the warm evening air, stuffing their hands in their pockets as they work to put as much distance between you and house as possible, and knowing the opportunity is gone leaves you resigned.

After a couple minutes, you realize they forgot to put on their shoes.

 _...Where are you going?_ you finally ask. You’ve already passed the section of the neighborhood around Asgore’s house that you’re familiar with, and you doubt Chara recognizes any more than you. They shrug. 

“Dunno.”

_You’re going to get us lost._

“I won’t.”

 _Fine_ , you say, imagining really hard that you’re crossing your arms at them. 

They hum. “You’re mad at me.”

You don’t say anything. Your silence is answer enough, if the way they nod their head is any indication.

“Did you think I’d just let you hurt yourself?” The answer to that is obvious and you both know it, and they barely pause before they continue. “Did you want me to?”

 _It’s none of your business._ You realize how weak the argument is even before you say it, and you know it’s wrong, but it’s still how you feel. It’s _not._

“It’s not,” they agree, and you barely have the time to register your own surprise when they continue, “which is why I’m making it my business. You’ve always helped me, so I’m returning the favor.” They sniff, stepping over a crack in the pavement. “Even if you don’t want it at the time.”

It takes another minute for your guilt to catch up to you, but when it does, it’s a sinking feeling, one that’s all too easy to let pull you under. You try not to let yourself wallow in it.

 _Sorry,_ you say. Chara slows to a stop. _I didn’t mean to._

Chara doesn’t ask for clarification, and you’re glad; you’re not even sure what you would say. “It’s alright. It’d be pretty hypocritical for me to judge you for it, I think.” They kneel on the sidewalk in front of someone’s yard. There’s a patch of pretty blue flowers, and when they pluck one from the bottom of its stem, you get the distinct impression that they tuck it behind _your_ ear, not theirs. “You’re allowed to be hurting, Frisk.”

It’s almost funny. You’ve endured years of hate from people who claimed to love you; you’ve been hurt countless times at the hands of people who you’d later call your friends; you’ve died, over and over and over and _over_ until you’ve stopped being afraid of it anymore; but all it takes is some kind words from the one person who has the least reason to give them to you and...

“I said something wrong, didn’t I,” Chara says, voice hoarse with your tears. You shake your head.

“No,” you whisper, wiping at your eyes. _Thank you. Thank you._

“Idiot,” they say fondly, and they rise to make their way back home.

///

The night air is practically buzzing with an excited electricity that makes it difficult to stay in your seat. You settle for kicking your feet back and forth instead, sipping at the cup of sparkling cider in your hands. Chara’s already reminded you half a dozen times of how silly it is, but you can’t help but feel a little grown up because of it, even though it’s nothing close to the bubbly glasses of champagne most of your friends are drinking. It _looks_ like it though. You figure that’s close enough.

Asgore’s voice rises up from the other end of the balcony. “It’s starting, everyone!” he says, and a low murmur travels through everyone gathered outside. You lean forward in your seat, eyes sweeping across the sky.

A small firework crackles in the air, sparkling light as it dissipates and triggers a collective gasp. Another one follows it, and then another, timed at perfect intervals, and with each tiny burst of light the crowd chants another number.

And then, to the sound of cheers loud enough to be nearly deafening, a cascade of intricately choreographed fireworks light up the sky, illuminating everything in shades of red and blue and yellow. 

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!”

You manage to look back just in time to see Undyne sweep Alphys off of her feet and smooch her triumphantly on the lips. You giggle, giving them a thumbs up you’re not sure they see, and feel your smile grow when you see the Dogi locked in a tender nose nuzzle that puts all the others to shame.

 _Gross,_ Chara says appreciatively.

 _I’ve seen grosser,_ you say indifferently, taking another sip of your cider, and you feel their eyebrows raise incredulously.

_Like what?_

_Like this,_ you say, kissing your fingertips and pressing them to your cheek, ignoring the nervous flutter in your chest. _Happy New Year, Chara._

 _...That was disgusting,_ they say after a moment, their emotions closed off. You remind yourself that doesn’t mean anything.

 _What can I say?_ You shrug. _I deliver._

You’re not expecting it when your other hand moves, but your eyes widen when their fingers raise to their lips, slowly pressing them against the other cheek.

 _There,_ they say. _Now we’re both gross._ And then, more shyly, _Happy New Year, Frisk._

You don’t say anything else as you watch the rest of the fireworks illuminate the night sky, but, hands wrapped around the empty glass, fingertips touching where they meet on the other side, you don’t really need to.

**Author's Note:**

> 4) i'm gay........................


End file.
